


Corn Dog Daddy

by inevitably_johnlocked



Series: I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ALL THE KINKS, BAMF John, Coming In Pants, Corn Dogs, Euphemisms, Fairgrounds, Fluff and Crack, Gift Fic, Humour, John Knows How to Handle a Meat Stick, M/M, Meat Sticks, Military Kink, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock Really Likes Watching John Shoot and Eat, Teeny Tiny Second of Angst, john is sexy, smol sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitably_johnlocked/pseuds/inevitably_johnlocked
Summary: Sherlock and John wind down after a case in a small town at a county fair. Sherlock's imagination goes awry as John's sexiness drives him crazy. Also: John knows how to handle a meat stick.





	Corn Dog Daddy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yorkiepug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yorkiepug/gifts).



> **_FIRST PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 11/17_**  
>  Original Post Here: [Corn Dog Daddy](http://inevitably-johnlocked.tumblr.com/post/165229678010/hubblegleeflower-inevitably-johnlocked)  
>  _Cleaned up and rewritten for Ao3._
> 
> _As a side note:_ I am FULLY aware that corn dogs aren't common / around the U.K. This fic was inspired by a silly chat I had with Sandy while we went to the Minnesota State Fair, and as such this is a gift for her. Please suspend your disbelief; this is absolute crack and is not meant to be taken seriously at all; it's written very quickly _(and re-revised again here for Ao3)_ and the pacing is terrible and is unbetaed, LOL. It's just harmless fun, and I hope you can enjoy it as well. Thank you.

The day was bright and the air was filled with smells that reminded Sherlock of his youth. He and John were in a small seaside town in the country for a case that happened to be having its annual carnival which brought many to its shores. 

The case had ended spectacularly, with John finding the perpetrator before Sherlock even deduced who it was. He had proudly announced to Sherlock how he figured it out, not forgetting to praise Sherlock's skills  _(even though he really didn't do much, bless John)_ while explaining the situation to the local police. John had stood tall and proud, maintaining his military bearing throughout the entire conversation, taking charge of the room and filling it up with his presence. 

John was very good at commanding attention, Sherlock had mused to himself. Seeing John glowing with happiness and his beautiful eyes sparkling in mirth did many things to Sherlock’s stomach and his libido, constantly reminding him just how much he loved this man.

As they had left the local constabulary, John had suggested to Sherlock that they check out the carnival, for he hadn’t been to one since he was a child, and they didn’t have to leave until the morning, so why not?

John just had to  _LOOK_ at Sherlock with his stupid puppy eyes and cheeky grin and probably-so-soft hair fluffing in the breeze, and Sherlock just absolutely caved. Anything for John, always; it embarrassed Sherlock how easily John could get Sherlock to acquiesce to his whims. He didn't mind, though, if he was honest with himself. After all, more time spent with a happy John meant more pleasure and chances for “accidental” touches for Sherlock.

The thought had made Sherlock's skin tingle in anticipation.

After returning to their B&B to change into something more comfortable – John in a blue button down with matching trousers and loafers with no socks, and Sherlock simply discarding the jacket of his suit and rolling up his shirt-sleeves and begrudgingly putting on trainers he didn't know he even owned at John’s behest  _(”They don’t match my SUIT, John!”, “Shut up, you wanker, I don’t want you coming home later complaining about blisters AGAIN. And COMFORTABLE clothes Sherlock, not runway model attire.” “THIS IS COMFORTABLE, JOHN!”) –_ the two men made their way to the riverside carnival, chatting about nothing and everything.

The afternoon was one of the best of Sherlock’s life, though he would probably deny it to anyone who asked unless they were John. He was pleasantly surprised that his mind had calmed the entire time, though he knew deep down it was because of John's presence. They had rode several rides, the Ferris wheel being Sherlock’s favourite. The view was beautiful as it overlooked the sea, and he imagined he and John were _together-_ together as the wheel gentle rolled them up to the sky. As it rounded to the highest point, Sherlock pretended-but-not-really to be nervous of heights and lightly grip onto John’s arm. John’s muscular, flexed arm that Sherlock was  _SURE_ that John was purposely flexing even harder just for Sherlock. John had even placed his free hand on Sherlock’s and gripped tightly, Sherlock knowing that John secretly wasn’t comfortable with heights either. 

Sherlock knows it’s his fault for that. He leaned his head onto John’s shoulder, a silent apology, and John returned the gesture by pressing his face into Sherlock’s hair, whispering “it’s okay” and then turning his head to face forward but still against Sherlock’s skull. 

It had been healing for both of them, just the two of them, sitting high up off the ground, pressed together, and understanding what each really meant to each other. They chatted quietly about the case, and Sherlock had told John just how spectacular he thought John was. 

John’s soft chuckle and utterance of “amazing” in regards to Sherlock in response would resonate in his mind palace’s John Room™ forever.

Upon disembarking from the Ferris wheel, their hands had found each other as if it was the most natural state of existence for the two of them. Sherlock didn’t even notice until John had pointed out he wanted to  _“go over there”_ and pointed with the fingers of the hand that was holding Sherlock’s, as if John was deliberately doing it to ensure Sherlock saw.

And boy, did he see. Sherlock's mind blanked briefly, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to regain focus of this monumental moment. How was the world still turning with John Watson –  _THE_ Captain John Hamish Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers _( **uhnf**_ _)_ – holding Sherlock Holmes’ hand? It didn’t make any sense! Sherlock turned his head to face John, who had a boyish grin plastered on his face.

“Yuh–Yes, okay,” Sherlock stammered as John lead them towards the games, Sherlock being pulled by John’s very existence, just as he always had been. John insisted Sherlock play a few games with him, and Sherlock was rather proud he had done well on the ball-toss game that won him a silly toy magnifying glass with the name of the town on its handle. It had made John grab for it and lightheartedly mock Sherlock. The two had giggled as they walked away from the stall, John reaching behind Sherlock and tucking the magnifying glass into Sherlock’s back trouser pocket, lightly brushing his fingers across his bum to find the pocket's slit. The move had made Sherlock jolt and stumble.

“Sherlock! Are you okay?” John asked, his adorable face expressing confusion.

Flushing slightly, Sherlock exclaimed, “Yes! Yes, sorry, John, I just saw something I really liked and I just was surprised, is all.” It wasn’t a complete lie, after all. Sherlock liked John. A lot. Much more than humanly necessary, if he was honest with himself.

And of course, John had to go and ask, “Oh?” as he searched the area for something that Sherlock possibly would have liked. John was so silly and oblivious sometimes that it hurt Sherlock’s brain.

But, as Sherlock observed John's eyes light up, it seemed that John  _HAD_ found something, curse him. John knew him too well. “That over there? Would you like to see me play that?” he had questioned, pointing to a booth a few stalls away. John smirked playfully as Sherlock’s eyes followed where John was pointing.

 _'Sure-Shot Shooter'_ proclaimed the booth, decorated with army camouflage as the backdrop and contained several targets and a couple pellet rifles. A man behind the counter stood wearing army fatigues, calling out to passer-by to try and win a prize for their partners. And surrounding the top of the booth were several sizes of plush, the largest and brightest was a disturbingly cute and round bumble bee.

DAMN JOHN.  _ **DAMN HIM TO HELL.**  _

Without even consulting Sherlock further – _The Nerve!_ – John straightened up, switched to his military bearing  _(HOW did John DO THAT? It wasn’t **FAIR** ), _and marched to the stall, tugging the dazed Sherlock along behind him. Sherlock could only blink helplessly as he was pulled along like a limp noodle on a string.

John released Sherlock when they arrived at the booth, and reached into his pocket for a tenner. “I know you like seeing me shoot, Sherlock,” John whispered coyly to Sherlock, glancing at him and smirking. 

Sherlock wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel touched or turned on. Was both okay? He hoped so, because his penis had its own opinion on the matter.

John and the man behind the stall chatted a bit as they prepped John for the game, but Sherlock had _NO_ idea what was being said, because for some reason his brain decided that zeroing in on _JOHN_ holding a _GUN_ required 98% of his attention. His dick was the other 2%. Somehow, Sherlock regained his composure enough to fumble for his phone and sneak a picture of John readying himself to take aim at the first of the five targets.

Sherlock couldn’t help but giggle to himself deliriously, which caused John to look over at him over his shoulder and beam a toothy grin. Sherlock’s stomach did a small somersault as he stupidly held up his phone, showing John what he was doing. John nodded and resumed the pose and held it, cheeky grin still present on his face.

Sherlock almost died right there on the spot. ' _Here marks where Sherlock Holmes melted into a puddle of goo,'_ his tombstone would read, ' _at seeing his flatmate sexily hold a fucking rifle and pose heroically for Sherlock fucking Holmes taking a stupid photo like a withering fool.'_

Sherlock snapped the photo, muttering a “thanks” under his breath. He gratefully didn’t melt into a puddle of goo, but his knees did weaken when John took his first shot, a  _perfect_  hit exactly where John wanted it to land, dead centre on the target that was moving along a track in the booth. Then another centre-shot. And another, continuing in this fashion as all ten of John’s shots landed dead centre, to the astonishment of the vendor and to Sherlock’s dick’s delight.

“Well, son, I must say that was impressive,” said the vendor as he reached up for the giant bumble bee plush. “Never seen anyone get perfect shots on all TEN. You would-a got this one with just 5.”

“Well, I wanted to be certain, you see,” John replied, taking the toy from the man, “Sherlock really likes bees.”

Said man, still holding his phone up in the air like a love-smitten statue, startled at the mention of his name. “Yes!” he may have said a bit too loudly. “Bees. John, bees, John. Bees. Yes.”

God, he was such an idiot. Apparently John was blind to this fact, because he handed the toy, which was nearly the size of John’s lovely chest, to Sherlock. “I won this for you, dolt! Take it!” 

“Muh,” was all Sherlock could say as he took the toy from John and gripped it tightly. The look of fondness on John’s face just deleted any chance of Sherlock being able to hide his feelings anymore today. “Thank you, John,” he breathed out, holding the plush tightly to himself, trying not to cry as John put his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and led them away from the stall.

God, he loved John _so much_.

“No problem,” John said, looking around the area. “Hungry?”

“What?” Sherlock mumbled into the toy. 

“Food, Sherlock?” John stated. “I know you don’t eat, but I’m starved.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, heading towards the first food stall he saw. “’Corn dogs?’“ That didn’t sound too appetizing. Why would anyone want a dog covered in corn?

John’s face brightened,”Ah! I haven’t had one of those since I was a kid! C’mon Sherlock, you’ll like them. They’re very sweet; you like sweet.”

“Okay,” Sherlock said warily, eyeing the picture of what appeared to be a Twinkie on a stick. Which didn’t make sense because it smelled like hot dogs and corn bread… OHHHHH. ‘ _Idiot, Holmes.’_ He held the bee tighter, reminding himself that John thought him clever.

John ordered one for himself, and asked Sherlock if he wanted one, who nodded. John took the two corn dogs and handed one to Sherlock as John put the tip of the dog in his mouth.

Sherlock nearly dropped both bee plush and corn dog as his cock made a bold attempt to let Sherlock know it was interested in the current proceedings.

John raised an eyebrow, grinned devilishly, and started suckling the tip of the corn dog. “Mmm,” John hummed. “I do like a sweet meat stick.”

 _Jesus Christ on a cracker,_ Sherlock thought, flushing so red that he was pretty sure his clothes would catch fire. If that wasn’t one of Sherlock’s many fantasy lines coming from John’s mouth brought to life in unexpected ways, he wasn’t sure what was. He sat down on a nearby bench, wincing a bit as he realised he was now uncomfortably hard. He sat the bee plush on his lap to cover himself up and bit into his own corn dog delicately, nipping the top of the cornbread and dog off. 

Surprisingly okay. He took a larger bite and chewed, savouring the sweetness of the cornbread mixed with the flavour of the hot dog, trying to not think about ‘sweet meat sticks’ and failing miserably.

John walked up alongside Sherlock, still with his stupid cheeky grin and holding the corn dog up close to his lips.

“Okay?” John questioned, placing a hand in Sherlock’s hair.

Fuck. “Corn dog daddy,” Sherlock muttered under his breath.

“Come again?”

Oh, John, not yet, but it was a sure thing within the next 2 minutes, Sherlock guessed, if John kept playing with Sherlock’s curls like that.

“’ _Yes, it’s tasty’,_ I said,” replied Sherlock, swallowing another bite as if trying to prove a point. He showed John his chewed corn dog. John nodded, and proceeded licking at his own, which Sherlock just now realized was coated in mustard. Up, and down, John tongue went along the shaft – DOG. Along the dog – stopping to suckle at the tip again, then biting into it.

_HNNNG. Control yourself, Holmes._

“I love licking the  _condiments_ ,” John stated, emphasizing part of the last word deliberately, lowering his voice, petting at Sherlock’s curls. He bent down to Sherlock’s ear, “off of all kinds of meat sticks.” John pulled back, looked Sherlock right in the eyes, tugged at Sherlock’s hair gently, licked along the length of the corn dog and tongued  _inside_ the tip. John wrapped his lips around the corn dog, and, damned John, he took the entire rest of the dog into his mouth, pulled it out half-way, and pushed it back in and pulled the dog off the stick.

“Mmmm,” John moaned, his eyes hooded and a bit of mustard on the corner of his lip. 

Damn John to hell, he knew exactly what the hell he was doing. Damn him DAMN HIM, damn –

Sherlock did like corn dogs, very much. And so did Sherlock’s cock, apparently, because it absolutely decided that was the perfect time to express its excitement by making a mess in his trousers. “Hnng!” he grunted, dropping his corn dog as John licked the mustard off his lips.

Jesus  _ **Christ.**_

“Oh, Sherlock, the mess you’ve made!” John said as he bent down to pick up Sherlock’s discarded dog, which gave Sherlock a nice view of John’s tight arse in those shouldn’t-be-fucking-sexy-but-they-are trousers.

Sherlock’s cock was so very happy, and spurted its joy again.  _Wrong mess, John,_ Sherlock thought weakly as he was coming down from his orgasms, watching John walk to the trash bin to throw out the dirty dog. Sherlock slouched on the bench blissfully and inspected the bee plush to ensure he didn’t ruin it too. Thankfully no, but a quick glance at the wet spot on his trousers and the uncomfortable wetness in his pants indicated that said pants were a lost cause.

John returned, still smiling that stupid John-smile that made John’s face look ten years younger and was only for Sherlock. He reached out a hand to help Sherlock off the bench. “Coming?”

“Already have.” Sherlock gestured vaguely to his groin area.

John’s eyes widened, and then he blushed prettily. “Oh…”

“Twice,” Sherlock added. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s… it’s good. Very good.” John pulled Sherlock up by his elbow, supporting him to ensure Sherlock could stand okay. He picked up the plush bee and handed it to Sherlock, who held it strategically in front of his wet trousers. He was very thankful that John got it for him. “How about we head back, have some dessert in the room?” John waggled his eyebrows. “I heard from the front desk that the store next door has iced lollies to die for.”

Sherlock looked at John and his face broke out into a huge grin. His John was so smart. What a brilliant idea. 

“I agree!” said John, responding to something Sherlock apparently said out loud. John looped his arm into the crook of Sherlock’s elbow as they began to walk. 

Sherlock blushed, but boldly pressed on, “Maybe I can show you how delicious they are?”

John beamed at him. “I’d like that.”

The two strolled back to the B&B, walking close and the sun glowing over them.

**Author's Note:**

> ANYWAY That happened. I wrote this assuming there's no established relationship... kind of at that "we understand we're attracted to each other but still haven't told each other" kind of thing. Hope you enjoyed :D


End file.
